


The war is over but we're still fighting

by mee4ever



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Bottom Draco, Dom Draco, Erectile Dysfunction, Falling In Love, Isolation, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, POV Draco Malfoy, Panic Attacks, Sexual Experimentation, St Mungo's Hospital, Therapy, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 03:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6736921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mee4ever/pseuds/mee4ever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Through the window of the common room, Draco had seen Potter arrive. Draco had looked down on the ground and seen <i>The Boy Who Lived</i> being taken into St Mungo’s; dozed out on one of the rolling hospital bed that the facility had for emergencies. The surprise had come when they rolled his body onto the second floor, <i>Draco’s floor</i>; the ward for the mentally ill. They were going to try and treat his mind.</p><p>Or the one where Draco and Harry meet again after the war has ended and have to realise that the war hasn't actually ended for either of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The war is over but we're still fighting

**Author's Note:**

> Beta cred to [Laura](http://attheotherlibrary.tumblr.com/) whoop thankkkk you!

Through the window of the common room, Draco had seen Potter arrive. Draco had looked down on the ground and seen  _ The Boy Who Lived _ being taken into St Mungo’s; dozed out on one of the rolling hospital bed that the facility had for emergencies. He’d laid still, with his eyes closed as if he was dead - maybe he’d been for all Draco knew. Dressed in muggle clothes and far too many nurses had been roaming around him. It was Harry Potter, though, so why wouldn’t they? The surprise had come when they hadn’t rolled his body to the fourth floor for Spell Damage or the third floor for Potions and Plants Poisoning, or even the first floor for Creature-induced Injuries. Instead, they’d rolled him onto the second floor, Draco’s floor, the floor for the usual Magical Bugs and Diseases as well as the ward for the mentally ill. To spike his surprise, they rolled him to the right, not to the left. Not for the magical bugs. Not for treatment of the body. No, they rolled him to the right. They were going to try and treat his mind. 

Draco hadn’t been this excited in ages. Sure, it was a really mean thing to get worked up about, another person being fucked up enough to get sent to this part of hell on earth, but Potter had always riled up things in Draco that no one else ever could. Also the fact that he might actually get to talk to someone other than Dorothy or McLuggs was just a relief. The three of them were the only people who actually were in a state of mind that they were able to hold conversations, most days, but Dorothy was seventy-eight and had such a bad case of dementia that she didn’t recognise Draco from one day to the next. To get some fun, Draco had taken to create a new persona for himself every day so he wouldn’t get bored of telling the same stories over and over. At first, it had made a great tumult around the  personnel  because they thought Draco  _ believed  _ he was all of the people he said he was, and it had taken them weeks to sort it all out. He was aware that he was not called Lincoln or Peter, he was Draco and he only said he was called other names and was other things, so he wouldn’t go out of his mind. Finally, they’d let him do it without further questioning. Today, his name was Leon and McLuggs sat in his usual chair trying not to laugh as Draco announced that he was a Knight of the Round Table and Dorothy ate it up with so much enthusiasm that she almost tipped out of her armchair. Draco gave McLuggs a stern look and mouthed that if he didn’t hold himself, Draco would hex him. Not that he could, he hadn’t had his wand - or any wand for that matter - for almost two years. McLuggs held his hands up defensively and hid another fit of laughter in a cough. 

McLuggs was Draco’s age, a year younger if Draco remembered correctly. Gone to Hogwarts, fought in the war, tried to kill himself several times in the weeks after it’d ended. Seeing his best friend die in the smoking ruins of his school had left permanent marks on his psyche. He was… not bad to hang around, Draco admitted, but he was also not really someone Draco  _ wanted  _ to hang around. McLuggs was a Hufflepuff and that should just explain things. It was the fact that he was so obviously  _ broken  _ that didn’t stick too well with Draco. Draco himself wasn’t broken. He was just, you know, not really  _ right _ . It had taken him up until about a month ago to realise and actually permit himself to think just that, that he wasn’t really right. Once he’d gotten over the fact that he was here for reasons that he’d  _ known  _ for his whole stay but never  _ believed _ , things had gotten easier. His mental problems were sort of detached to him, his depression, his PTSD, his self-hatred and his anxiety weren’t his usual self. They were parts of him that surfaced; that banged him over his head and suddenly they were all there and then they would leave just as they had appeared. It was a game trying to guess whether today would be a day he remembered, a day he could talk, a day he could feel the tea going down his throat or the food in his mouth. At first, he’d told himself that he was cursed. That somebody made him into this other Draco those days and it had nothing to do with him; because he wasn’t broken. The first time he acknowledged the fact that he understood that nobody was hexing him, his therapist had straightened her back and smiled; also for the first time. He wasn’t broken, but his brain still wasn’t  _ right _ . Later, Draco had understood that she had thought of this as a good thing because it meant that he had actually made progress. 

When Potter came out of isolation, two weeks after being locked up (that was two weeks earlier than when Draco had first been let out but Draco didn’t think about that), he’d stumbled into the common room and heaved himself down in the ugliest thing he could’ve found. It was a cerise armchair, none of the others had even a resemblance of red and Draco thought that Harry had chosen that one just because it was the closest to the Gryffindor colours. Familiarity. Draco had decided long ago that he was going to talk to Potter and so he flounced over and sat down opposite him on the other side of the table. Potter had pulled his legs up, rested his chin on his knees and hugged his shins. He had his eyes trailed on Draco as he sat down and carefully placed one of his ankles on the other leg’s knee. No introductions needed. No greeting. Potter looked sharp enough to be present. Small, maybe; young, definitely, but absolutely present. Draco huffed a laugh. 

"So what’d you do, Potter, try and set your house on fire?" The words kind of echoed. The common room was usually quiet this time a day, time a night, it was past eleven, and tonight was no exception. From the look on Potter’s face, he hadn’t tried to set something on fire.  _ Pity _ , Draco thought. To further prove Draco’s initial assumptions, Potter protested. 

“What? No, I didn’t try and set my house on fire! Wait, did  _ you  _ try and set  _ your  _ house on fire?” 

“I tried to set  _ myself  _ on fire actually,” Draco said with a shrug as he held up his left arm and showed  the severely large, but healed, burn over his Mark. It was not like he was going to be able to hide it anyway. Potter might as well know. The  _ heat  _ in Potter’s answer had surprised him. Ordinary people coming out of lock down weren’t in the best of shape, but then again Harry bloody Potter wasn’t ordinary, was he? The complete look of utter surprise on Potter’s face made Draco flail a hand. 

“Oh, don’t give me that look now, Potter, we all know you’re here because you did some stupid shit that hurt - or could’ve seriously hurt - someone. You just came out of Solitary Confinement, after all.” You weren’t sent to St Mungo’s for nothing and you certainly weren’t sent into your own private cell without having done something pretty bad. 

“How did you know that?” Potter’s eyes were wide, shocked, and it just figured that he wasn’t even able to put two and two together. Draco rolled his eyes. 

“I’ve been here for over a year, Potter. It’s not like I stopped  perceiving  things just because I was admitted.” It was easy to say things to Potter. It always had been, not that he had always said so many personal things but somehow it wasn’t much of a difference. “You look ugly in those glasses” and  “I’ve been in this psych ward for over a year”. Same, same. At least nowadays. 

“You’ve been here over twelve months?”

“I believe that is the correct interpretation of “a year”, yes. I knew you were behind, Potter, but this is just unsettling.”

“You’re behind,” Potter said with a sudden flush to his cheeks. Draco gave him a snide smile. 

“I see that your comebacks are still as unimaginative as usual.” 

“Screw you.”

“Hm,” Draco said lightly and gave Potter a look over, “I might, if you’re into that sort of thing.” It wasn’t like he could. His dick hadn’t been operative for well over a year, way before getting admitted. He didn’t miss it much. And it wasn’t like he could get any action in here;  McLuggs the only other man available (at least in his right mind) and that boy Draco would never let near his ass. Or crotch. Or face. Or personal space. Normally, neither his general vicinity. Probably not even if he was really desperate and McLuggs was the only one left. Okay, maybe then. But a very strong ‘maybe’. 

“Excuse me?” Draco snapped out of his thoughts and looked at Potter again. Right. Conversation that actually  required  answering. Long time since. 

“Screw you?” Draco repeated. “I usually bottom but I can make an exception.” Potter’s eyes grew wide again and Draco managed to not roll his. Like Potter had somehow missed the fact that Draco and Zabini had fucked like bunnies since fifth year. He was dense, but not that slow. 

“Are you- Are you talking about sex?” Draco gave him a look. Potter gave him a look in return. It wasn’t like Potter would normally be like this. Maybe the isolation and whatever was going on in his head was a bit worse than Draco had first thought since Potter’s look was completely sincere like he didn’t actually know if this conversation was about sex or not. 

“You’re really far more messed up in that head of yours than I had anticipated, Potter,” Draco said. “I don’t think I can sleep with anyone who’s as out of it as you are. Maybe they should send you back into SC a while longer?”

“I’m not messed up!” Potter tried to defend himself but Draco had been there too many times to not see through it. Potter was also a fucking bad liar. 

“Wow, Potter, your lying skills exceeds you. If you keep it up, you might even convince nose-picking Patrick over there.” Suddenly Potter was  cradling  one of his hands in the other and for some reason it made Draco’s stomach knot. And then he remembered. He knew what the scars said. He hadn’t meant to actually bring up bad things, not like this anyway. Potter  _ had  _ just come out of Solitary  Confinement . He shot Patrick a look. Patrick wasn’t there, Draco realised. It was late. It was just him and Potter. Whenever someone other than Draco was out, there was always a staff member there. Draco was left to his own devices, which he saw as a sign that he was mentally ‘better’ than the rest of them. When he was deep down, he thought it was because nobody would actually care whether he killed himself or not.

“I’m… Why are you even talking to me, Malfoy?” The question took Draco aback. Especially since it was the first time he’d heard anyone refer to him as “Malfoy” for a very long time but also because of the fact that Potter had now made it very clear that he knew who Draco was. Draco hadn’t even been aware that he feared that Potter was  _ that bad _ . It made him a bit uneasy to be relieved Potter wasn’t too far gone. 

“Because you just came out of Solitary Confinement,” Draco finally answered. 

“What about it?” Draco lost his features for a second and stared with his mouth hanging slightly open. 

“ _ What about it?  _ Did you or did you not just come out of there?”

“I did, yes?” Potter raised an eyebrow. 

“And you’re asking me why I’m speaking to you?” Draco raised two. 

“Yes.”

“You are really something, Potter. I’m talking to you because you haven’t talked to anyone in quite a while and I remember it being a very traumatic experience to get out and then nobody  _ still  _ wouldn’t talk to me.” After his first four weeks, he’d been less of a wreck than when he’d gotten there, but getting out and still not being able to have normal interactions with other human beings had left him feeling hollow even when his mind was clear as day. An emptiness that none of the potions could keep away. When he’d finally found out that the two friends in the corner were also talking like normal people, it’d taken less than thirty minutes before he had decided that these were now ‘his’ people. For some reason he got the urge to introduce Potter to McLuggs. He probably would tomorrow. Or the day after that, McLuggs usually didn’t come out on Wednesdays. 

“Are you being nice?” 

“Merlin’s sake, Potter. Yes. I’m trying to be  _ nice _ .” Partly at least. Just a little part hoped that Potter would just continue talking to him because at least that made him feel; anger and hatred and annoyance and stuff like that rather than boredom as he seldom got away from with his… ‘people’.

“That’s… You’re not doing a very good job.” Potter scrunched up his face into a grimace and Draco actually laughed in a short out breath of air. 

“That is also one of the goals.” Because it was. 

“You’re an arse, Malfoy,” Potter said, because he was. 

“Surprised, Potter?” 

“Wish I was.” There was a playful sort of smile in the corner of Potter’s mouth that Draco didn’t really care for. 

Fortunately for Draco, Potter did actually continue to talk to him after that first night. When he entered the common room the following day, with rumpled hair - that didn’t at all make him look adorable - and a look upon his face that told Draco that he hadn’t in the slightest been prepared for breakfast at St Mungo’s psych ward. There were a lot of people. Old and young and most of them weren’t in such good shape. Most were victims of the Cruciatus, while some were extreme cases of PTSD. The lot were quiet and mostly just  _ shuffled _ . Draco waved Potter over and he had looked thankful. Draco had told him he looked like shit so that he would wipe that thankfulness off his face but it had only been replaced by a grin and a brisk “you’re looking constipated as ever”. Draco had grumbled and McLuggs (who actually was out this Wednesday) had choked on his toast, which served him right. 

Draco got to introduce Potter to McLuggs, of course the younger man already knew who _ Harry Potter  _ was but he didn’t make a big deal out of it and Draco believed that Potter was grateful for that too. In here, it didn’t really matter anyway. He did also introduce Potter to Dorothy but since she would forget him tomorrow, he just called him Scarface and watched as Dorothy happily grabbed his hand, held on for too long and called him Scarface four times before letting him go. Potter looked like he was on the brink of shouting at Draco and Draco found himself anticipating it, wanting it, because it would feel like it should. But Potter only sat down in the pink chair again after grabbing a few slices of toast. It was mundane. It was everything Draco needed at that moment. Potter sitting in his Gryffindor chair and dropping comments, a Hufflepuff chuckling beside him. A little bit of… almost normal. 

Of course it didn’t last long. Never did. He was glad the first time he realised that Potter was  **real** , the first time he’d touched Draco, but it had been on a very bad day so it had thrown him down very deep, very fast. All of a sudden there was a war being fought and Draco was lying on the ground, stunned by a Stupefy so powerful he almost couldn’t breath. Around him, people were dying and screaming and casting curses and counter-spells. He tried to move and was met by resisting muscles and as he tried to avert his eyes from the scene, his eyelids wouldn’t fall shut and his head wouldn’t turn. He didn’t know for how long it lasted, but it was enough so that when he woke up, he hadn’t realised that he had blacked out. He hadn’t expected Potter to touch him, so he hadn’t told him about that part yet. About the part where touches made him fall into the abyss, the part where his potions didn’t help in the slightest if anyone made physical contact with him. Potter had apologised. Once. Said he was sorry and that he wouldn’t touch Draco again, and they had left it at that. Draco couldn’t have asked for anything better since he didn’t like it mentioned at all. 

They fell into a routine after that, the four of them. It was pretty much the same one as the three original had had before Potter, but it was changed just a tiny bit. For starters, Potter brought sass into the group where Draco had been the only one understanding the art of it before; they could now sit a whole day just passing judgmental comments about each other back and forth and Draco realised just how much he’d missed having someone to bicker with that didn’t crumble after the first punch or laughed it away. Potter actually bit back and it was wonderful really. Most days bitch towards Draco seemed to be the only thing Potter did. Draco didn’t mind. If Potter was a complete mess 95% of the time but could find the strength to criticise Draco’s appearance or way of walking or whatever, he wasn’t going to be the one to shut him down. 

He found in the following weeks that  _ he  _ did want to touch Potter. Not daring try it out since it could mean another dip into the darkest parts of his mind, but the urge to reach for him increased drastically for every day that passed. Maybe it was just another way that Potter got under his skin, just another way he wanted to express hostility. Maybe he just wanted to slap Potter, push him around a little, kick him in the shins, that sort of ‘touching’. 

One day when Potter smiled at him (because he’d made one of those snide comments and it was a good day), Draco’s cock twitched and it was so surprising that he looked down at it. 

When he’d told this to his therapist - because he’d talked himself into being honest and tell her when things changed - she’d looked over her glasses and just gravely asked if he was attracted to ‘Harry’. He’d shaken his head no, of course he wasn’t. It was the banter. It sparked stuff. It was making him feel things. Not necessarily attraction or sexual urges. Just... feelings in general. 

“But you are gay, Draco. It’s okay if you are attracted to him.” Sure it was, the former  _ Death Eater  _ falling head over heals for  _ The Boy Who Lived _ , while they were both locked up for mental problems, surely there were nothing wrong with that. Surely that would be okay; if that was the case. Which it, mind you, wasn’t. It wasn’t even attraction. 

The second time that Draco mentioned the reason for why Potter was actually present, was after Potter had been there for over eight weeks. They’d touched the subject of mental status a few times, Draco pushing himself further than Potter in revealing things. It felt good. Telling this person who so obviously had seen a lot of the same things as Draco but from such a different perspective. So he’d told Potter. Sitting opposite him in his pink chair, when Potter had started to sprawl in it instead of keeping his legs to his chest, Draco had begun to tell him about his childhood. Only when they were alone, only in the dead of night, only when there wasn’t anyone else there to listen to them. And even if the walls had ears, he still got the sense that they didn’t listen anyhow. It started with:

“I don’t know how your childhood was but I for one never learnt from my parents how to really express my… myself. Emotions and that sort of thing.” They hadn’t taught him. His father had always been a very cold man, a very distant man when it came to positive emotions. Maybe because he saw feelings as weaknesses and maybe because he was too scared of them. Draco didn’t know and he would never find out. The only thing his father had taught him when it came to interacting with other people was how to shake their hand. How to position yourself the right way, how long to hold, how to do the shaking, that he should look the other person in the eye. The first time he’d really tried it had been with Potter and maybe that was one of the reasons that Potter also now was the person he felt like  _ reaching  _ for again. Maybe a handshake was what he wanted, and not to punch Potter in the jaw. 

His mother was a different story, she’d been warmer. Easier to grasp, but still not one to say “I love you” or hug you. Because, he’d learned lately,  _ that  _ was apparently things mothers usually did. This therapy thing paid off, he realised as his therapist explained just that, and a lot of other things he could’ve never dreamt of. He hadn’t told Potter all of this of course, but he’d told him some of it. 

“My parents were killed when I was one,” Potter had retorted and Draco had rolled his eyes, because really, like he didn’t bloody well know that? But when Potter visibly relaxed after getting that sentence out, Draco didn’t comment. 

While Draco continued to open up in their nightly discussions, Potter  _ started  _ to lay himself out there. After what seemed like a reasonable amount of time, Draco asked, a bit more delicately than the first time, why Potter were at St Mungo’s and Potter had looked at him for a long time. 

“I got drunk on Firewhisky and tried to Obliviate myself.” 

“That’s understandable.” Draco hadn’t been doing the same thing, but he’d totally dipped into memory potions a few times. Before the whole fire-thing. “What happened?”

“I went berserk. Cast a few curses that weren’t very nice. The spell isn’t made to use on yourself and I was lucky, they say, that I didn’t end up like Lockhart.” Potter had sat up straight from his slouched position and he almost sat on the edge of the chair now. Not like he wanted to leave really, more like he wanted to be closer to Draco when he talked. Maybe because he didn’t want to talk so loudly. It was pretty heavy things to admit. Potter leaned forward. 

“I would try it again, or some other spell, if I had my wand,” he whispered.  

“You tell your therapist that?”

“I don’t tell my therapist anything?” Potter answered as he leaned back, looking confused. Draco hadn’t known how much Potter talked in actual therapy but he was always quiet in group ones, and never said anything remotely personal to Dorothy (even if she would forget) or McLuggs. Surprise still hit him at the revelations. He believed Potter would be one to talk to his therapist about everything, even the slight hurt in his right pinkie when he’d written with a quill for too long. Draco adjusted himself in his seat. Snorted without feeling. 

“So what do you do in therapy? Sit and watch the tablecloth for hours at a time?” 

“I mean, I tell her things. Just not… these sort of things.” It struck Draco how odd of a statement that was. They weren’t at Hogwarts anymore but he didn’t think that they had actually become friends either. But here he was, with a secret that Potter hadn’t even shared with his healer. 

“You shouldn’t tell me those types of things, Potter.”

“Why not? You tell me those types of things.”

“Yeah, after I’ve discussed them with my therapist.” The look of “oh” on Potter’s face made Draco twist uncomfortably in his chair. He added: “That’s what’s she’s for, you know.”

“I don’t trust her.”

“But you trust me?” Draco blurted. Potter looked like he didn’t know what to say for a minute. Draco flipped it in his mind a few times, trying to decide whether Potter thought he could trust him because he was mentally ill, or because he was just plain stupid. As the expression on Potter’s face deepened into one of hard concentration, Draco guessed that Potter was turning the same questions around in his own mind. 

“I know where I have you,” Potter settled on after a while. Draco laughed dryly. 

“You’re in a mental hospital with me, you’re unstable. I’m unstable. You have no idea where you have me.” 

“I’m not talking about you as in whether or not you’re going to act out, I’m talking about that I know where you’re standing regarding me. You’re… familiar. I don’t know my therapist. I’ve never met her before I came here. I have no idea what she thinks of me. You, though, I know you don’t like my glasses and that you’ve gone through things similar to what I’ve been through. You’re here, yes, but you’re also here  _ with me _ .” 

“So you’re using me as your therapist, instead of your actual therapist, because I’m… known to you?”

“You also make me feel safe.” Draco almost leaped out of his chair at the words. Harry Potter should not feel safe around Draco Malfoy. Not that he would ever do anything to hurt him, not more than maybe that punch he’d been thinking about, but all the same. Potter should be guarded. Like he used to be, because Draco is a Slytherin and only in this for his own personal gain.  

“Are you mad? I can’t make you feel safe,” he said quietly because he couldn’t just let it go. He didn’t think he’d ever made anyone feel safe. That was not his style. 

“Yes, you do. You treat me like an equal.”

“I do not treat you like an equal. And those are two very different things, Potter. I think you have them confused.” Potter eyed him down. 

“You know as well as I that I am in my right state of mind. I am not confused.” And there it was. Potter was sane, volatile but sane, and he thought that the presence of Draco made him feel secure and that Draco treated him like they were on the same level. 

“You’re an absolute madman,” Draco argued and shook his head. Potter shrugged. It was another thing that didn’t really matter here. They were already locked up, being a bit more or less crazy wouldn’t change that. 

Draco started seating himself next to Potter after that. For some reason, it felt like he did the “reaching out”-thing when he was sitting next to the dark haired man instead of opposite. Maybe it also actually felt more like he was on the same level as Potter when he did it, because they weren’t in that “doctor-patient” sort of constellation. McLuggs was pouty for a while because his place was the one Draco had now taken to occupy but Draco didn’t care. He’d get over it. 

His therapist had been a bit deflated when Draco had told her that Potter confided in him but not in his own therapist. She’d sighed a little and told him that it wasn’t exactly what they wanted after which she asked if he felt burdened. He’d never thought about it like that, so he shook his head. She asked why he didn’t. He didn’t know. It wasn’t like Potter’s life made him feel like shit, it was the things that had happened in  _ their  _ lives that caused problems. Hearing Potter speak about them was merely… Potter speaking about it. Before he left, she told him that he didn’t have to be that person for ‘Harry’, if he didn’t want to. This was his recovery. He stopped with his hand on the door knob and glanced back at her. He nodded once. He thought that his recovery was profiting off Potter’s words, but he didn’t really want to admit that to neither himself nor her at that moment. 

He held out his hand to Potter one morning. Standing up when the other man arrived with his breakfast. 

“What are you doing?” Potter asked cautiously as he placed his toast on the table. Dorothy looked curiously at them, McLuggs snickered. Draco ignored them. 

“I’m Draco Malfoy,” Draco said and felt stupid. He didn’t let it show on his face though, he’d composed himself long before Potter had walked in. 

“I know who you are...” Potter said. “Are you- Are you okay?”

“Yes,  _ Potter, _ ” he snarled and shook his open palm in the air. “I’m not off my rockers, now will you please introduce yourself?” Potter stood frozen for a while, contemplating the task at hand. When he finally decided to actually go for it, he reached out slowly, anticipating Draco to remove his hand. He didn’t. 

“Only if you mean it, Potter,” Draco got out quickly before they actually touched. Potter stopped for a second more and then he carefully placed his hand in Draco’s. When Draco’s mind didn’t flip a switch at the touch, they both breathed out. It was an unusually good feeling, the warmth against his fingers, the light pressure in his palm. There was a sudden increase of his pulse which only made him think that now he was losing it again, but he never woke up on the ground. He never saw fire or smoke or tortured people. He was still in the common room. He breathed out again. Potter’s grip firmed and he leaned into Draco’s personal space as he said: 

“Harry Potter. Nice to meet you, ehm, Draco?” As he tried the name, Draco shook their hands once. 

“My pleasure. Harry.” They moved apart again. But the gesture felt like the most intimate thing Draco had ever done and he’d been fucked raw by another human being.

He experimentally tried to touch Po- Harry every once in a while. Just innocent touches. A hand on his back, a little nudge on his arm, their feet touching when they were sitting next to each other at dinner. The potions kept him in reality, something he’d never thought possible since he’d never thought he could actually let anyone into his bubble without the potions releasing him and sending him alive six feet under. It’d never worked before. But Harry was different. Always different. 

There was a man playing a guitar for the department when Draco decided that he could probably sit next to Harry on the couch. It’d been a bad idea, since he managed to get the worst panic attack he’d had in months. He’d sat down and as he did, his leg touched Harry’s leg and his arm touched Harry’s arm and it was so  _ much _ . He didn’t disappear; the potions held and still he couldn’t breathe and still he wanted to scream and still he cried an embarrassingly amount. They had to use a spell to lift him off the ground and send him into his room, because as soon as anyone neared him, he squealed and flinched. Harry looked at him exasperated, but couldn’t do anything. He whispered that things were going to be okay. Draco didn’t believe him. 

There were footsteps outside his room and he didn’t open his eyes when he heard them stopping by his door. He lay in his bed, in fetal position, cradling his legs with his arms. The Healers had left the door open to keep an eye on him. He didn’t feel like talking to any of them. 

“You look like shit, Malfoy,” Harry said and Draco couldn’t help the snort that came out of him. 

“Gee, thanks, Potter,” Draco replied dryly. Only opened his eyes to look at the other man when he asked if it’d been his fault. 

“Of course not, Harry, you just sat there. I thought I could sit next to you. As demonstrated, I could not.” Harry searched for the words for a long time before asking. 

“But you... didn’t... go deep?” Draco shook his head. 

“The potions still work. They keep the war out of my mind, or not out of my mind, I still remember it, I still feel it, but they keep me from  _ being  _ there. It doesn’t keep the panic away but the things I panic about. I didn’t panic about the war now, I... Touching triggers the potions somehow, makes them useless but when I… it doesn’t work like that with you anymore. For some reason. It feels good instead. Well, not today maybe but...” 

“Is that why you have been… touching me? Because it makes you feel good?”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Potter.”

“I’m not insinuating anything. Can I come in?” Harry had politely stood in the hallway for the duration of their conversation. Draco nodded, Harry stepped in. He dragged the wooden pin chair Draco had from across the room and placed it before Draco’s bed and sat down. He was close enough to touch but far enough away to not be interfering with Draco’s personal space. Draco felt pretty much calmed down, tense, but calm.

“I like to touch you,” he finally admitted, letting out a sigh.

“I like it when you touch me,” Harry answered without missing a beat. Before Draco even knew it, he’d asked Harry to pull up his hand. Harry did without questioning it and Draco looped his pinky together with Harry’s. It was a small gesture, but it didn’t make him feel worse. It made him feel better. The other man looked surprised. 

“I haven’t touched anyone, like this I mean, since just before Voldemort’s fall.” Voice croak and barely audible. Draco took that statement in and placed it somewhere in his brain where it hummed a little, because he could in some ways be Harry’s first; to pull him open again. 

“I didn’t think I ever would again.” And Harry could be his reconciliation. Not for the world, not for his sins, but for himself. If this man could feel safe with him, maybe Draco could feel safe with himself too some day. 

The day that they first hugged, was the best day in Draco’s life for the past four years. He was ridiculously sappy and cried through the whole thing but so did Harry so it wasn’t  _ such  _ a big deal. Their Healers, McLuggs and Dorothy clapped their hands. The Gryffindor boy had been there for over six months and Draco had seen them both grow into something completely different from what they had been when Harry had walked into the common room that first night. Draco held Potter’s hand most days, just because he could. He ignored the thoughts that told him that he was stupid. 

“Do you think about me when you jerk off?” Harry asked. He was sitting beside Draco on Draco’s bed, the two of them reading separate books. Draco glanced over at Potter and saw that he was pretending to read, really intently. Draco focused back on his own book. At first, he didn’t think he wanted to give a reply but he found himself starting the sentence without his control. 

“I don’t… wank,” he answered because he didn’t. It was true that he had been getting a lot more interesting things happening in his pants over the last few months but it was nowhere near a full hard on and never - if he was admitting things - when Harry wasn’t around. 

“You don’t?”

“I… I don’t...” he trailed off and waved a hand around, as if it indicated exactly what he meant. “It doesn’t really  _ work _ .”

“At all?” Draco rolled his eyes and flicked his head to the side to try and convey “mostly” without having to say anything. He wondered why this conversation had trailed in on his “malfunctioning” dick. Here he was, thinking that he could just read his book and sit next to Harry and-

“I think about you. When I, you know.” Draco choked on his own spit and coughed for several minutes. It wasn’t like he was scared or repelled about sex, but he was so unused to it. Here in St Mungo’s he hadn’t even had a proper chance to  _ think  _ about sex. And now somehow there had now opened a door, a door to sex with  _ Potter _ . With  _ Harry _ . His pants strained for a few seconds.  _ Convenient _ . 

“Do you feel then? In your mind, so to speak?” Harry asked and Draco managed to look at him again. He was pointedly not watching Draco. 

“Of course, Potter. I feel it south too, it just doesn’t get-” And there it was again. Twice in a minute. That had got to be a record. 

“You’re making me feel things right now though,” Draco said with a chuckle. And Harry looked up. 

“Are you getting hot, Malfoy?” Potter asked and Draco ducked under his gaze. He shook his head. 

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

“Shut up, Potter.”

“Make me.” It was an invitation but Draco didn’t know if he could. Touching Potter with his hands was one thing, their hug last week had gone way better than expected, but kissing.... Kissing was another sort of territory. It meant something else. Draco’s heart raced and he didn’t know if it was because he suddenly was really scared or just really fucking wanted to kiss Harry without feeling like the world might topple over if he did. Harry sensed his hesitation because he added: 

“If you want to. You can, but only if you want to.”

“I don’t think I-” He started but Harry interrupted. 

“Any day. It doesn’t have to be today. Whenever you want.” So Draco just linked their pinkies once more and then they didn’t talk about that for the rest of the night. 

Dorothy died. Completely out of the blue, one day she was there and the next she wasn’t. It was weirdly empty around their table now when they had gotten so used to being four. Harry was as crushed as the two others because even if he hadn’t been there for as long as the others, Draco believed he had gotten as close to Dorothy as one could possibly get with a person with her illness. They weren’t permitted to go to the funeral but they held a small service in the common room in her honour. McLuggs spoke a few words. There was chocolate cake because that had been her favourite. Draco hugged Harry one more time. Longer, harder, more tears. 

On the one year mark of Harry’s arrival, Draco kissed him. Tentative, chaste, closed mouthed. He couldn’t remember that he’d ever kissed like that before, but he didn’t freak. He didn’t know why he could, but touching Harry never sent him into his own mind. Not when he intertwined their fingers, not when he brushed Harry’s back, not when he now kissed him. It was like the potions didn’t really  _ care  _ about Potter. Draco on the other hand, realised that he cared for Harry an awful lot. And for the first time in years, it was killing him that he didn’t really get aroused. 

“You want to watch me?” 

“Yes.” It was probably a fucking weird thing to ask for, Draco thought but didn’t have it in him to be embarrassed about it. He’d just hadn’t been able to get it out of his mind since he thought about it and now seemed appropriate as ever to pop the question. Dark, quiet, everyone else asleep. The only thing that lit up the calm room was Draco’s bedside lamp. Harry looked at him for a few seconds before stuttering his answer. 

“Could you… talk to me during?” He asked. Which wasn’t exactly  _ just  _ an answer but more of an answer inside of a question really. Draco could barely see that his cheeks tinged of pink. Draco hadn’t really thought about it but when he did, he decided that it was a brilliant idea. 

“You want me to talk dirty to you? Tell you what to do?” He asked, made his voice as sultry as he possibly could. 

“ _ Yes _ .”  _ You’ve been thinking about this, Harry, _ Draco thought to himself. Of course, he already knew that Potter was thinking about him like that, but to see the  _ lust  _ really seep out of him was amazing. 

“Take off your pants,” Draco said easily and Harry stared for a second before complying. This was going to be so much fun. He stood up from the bed and unbuttoned his pants, let them drop to the floor and stepped out of them. His legs were lean, with knobbly knees and thin ankles. Perfectly still, he waited for Draco to continue. Draco sat back against the wall, feet dangling over the edge and he cocked his head to one side. 

“And your shirt.” As Harry reached for the first button he added: “Slowly.” And Potter slowed down. Unbuttoning his shirt took longer than Draco had ever thought possible but it built up anticipation well enough, Harry couldn’t bloody well hide what was going on inside of his boxers when his pants were removed. Draco liked the sight. The shirt finally dropped to the floor and Harry had started to breathe heavily already. 

“I think since we’ve gotten this far, the underwear can go, too,” Draco said with a grin and Harry only flushed a little when he removed them. 

“Come, sit on the bed.” Draco moved into a tailor's position on the pillow edge of the bed and Harry took the spot where Draco had just sat. Draco could reach out and touch him if he wanted to. He didn’t because he was too riled up. 

“Touch the insides of your thighs,” he ordered. “One hand, and spread your legs further apart. Come on.” Potter followed suit. His head fell back against the wall as he dragged his fingertips up his thigh and back down, without touching anywhere  _ particularly  _ sensitive. Draco told him to stop, to keep his hand still, when he was on his way back up again, almost at the point where he’d let the hand slow and then trail back down. 

“Keep going upwards,” he said calmly. Harry sucked in a breath when his fingers traced over his balls and he opened his eyes and looked at Draco. 

“Just touch there for a moment,” Draco said and Harry did as he said. 

“I want you to imagine that that is my hand; squeeze harder now.” Harry groaned. Draco wanted desperately to have his hands on him but he didn’t want to ruin it all with an attack so instead he seated himself on this hands. 

“Up the shaft.” Harry’s hand trailed up his cock a tiny bit faster than Draco would’ve liked but when he told him to run his thumb over the head and got a moan, he didn’t really care. Harry’s breathing was hitching and it looked like it took all his capacity to not starting moving his hand, not start squeezing and pulling and touching. 

“Look at me,” Draco said and Harry opened his incredibly green eyes once more. “You can start now.”

“Fuck,” Harry whimpered and then he proceeded to jerk himself, holding Draco’s gaze as he did. Draco licked his lips and felt a surge in the pit of his stomach. 

“Speed up.” He really quite liked that Harry did just as he said. It wasn’t like he was in control, not really because Harry could just as easily just not listen, but it was the fact that Harry wanted him to be in control that made the whole thing so good. Harry’s mouth had dropped open and his pants managed to rush over Draco’s face, so hard he breathed. 

“You’d like for me to kiss you again,” Draco teased. Harry probably would’ve rolled his eyes if he was in a less state of undress. 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” he only said, through gritted teeth. 

“I thought you wanted me to talk you through it?” That, he would’ve definitely rolled his eyes at. But now, he just sped up his hand. Draco told him that he was going to move up to him, and he couldn’t come until Draco said so. Harry only managed a nod. Draco got this his knees, as gracefully as he could manage and it was only a step before he was just next to Harry. He leaned on the wall with his arm and bent down to Potter’s ear, not touching him in any way but so close he could feel the heat rolling off the other man. 

“That is my hand around you,” he whispered in Harry’s ear and Harry’s breath hitched again. “That is me getting you off and you love it, don’t you?” Harry whined and nodded frantically. 

“You want to fuck me, don’t you, Potter?” Harry gasped out a  _ yes.  _ “I don’t think you could handle me, Potter, look at you. You’re coming undone right this second, aren’t you?”

“ _ Please _ , Draco...” Harry begged and Draco’s heart skipped. His pants tightened. 

“Please what?”

“Let me...” Harry only got out. Then he just heaved breaths. 

“Let you what? Let you come? Sure, when you’ve asked for it.”

“Pleaseletmecomeplease?” Draco put his lips as close to Potter’s ear as he dared and whispered:

“Come for me, Harry.” And Harry did. Cursing and gasping and hot and fucking everywhere. It was worth it in the end; to be able to see Harry come undone, to hear him cry out and pant, to relish in the fact that Draco made that happen. Even if cleaning up was a bitch and maybe he was a tiny bit jealous that Harry couldn't do the same for him. 

“Do you move a lot when you sleep?” Draco asked suddenly and Harry - standing next to the bed after pulling his pants on again - leered down at the blond.

“I've slept half my life in a cupboard, Draco. No, I do not move a lot when I sleep.” Draco rolled his eyes. 

“Then, stay,” he said and held Harry gaze for the infinite time Harry stared at him. But he didn't say anything. Just dropped his pants to the floor again and sat down next to Draco, who got up and undressed. Harry didn't exactly stop staring once he did this, and Draco only gestured for Harry to make himself comfortable. “You first, so I know where you are.” 

Harry nodded and slid down under the covers and positioned himself close to the wall, facing Draco and Draco laid down, facing the wall and Harry. They lay looking at each other for a few minutes before Harry turned around, back towards Draco and at first it felt like the cold shoulder. 

“I probably would’ve kissed you otherwise,” Harry whispered and Draco smiled. He scooted a bit closer, bringing out his hand and placed it gently on top of Harry’s upper arm. It felt immensely better than nothing. Harry breathed out hard. 

“You're going to get me hot again,” he said in an almost laugh. Draco snorted. 

“I'm only touching your  _ arm.” _

“You're  _ touching _ me, period. Also, you're not wearing any clothes.” Draco did, in fact, wear clothes, underwear and a t-shirt but that seemed to be fully naked in Harry’s world. Draco circled his thumb over Harry’s bicep and closed his eyes. 

“How can you touch me?” Harry asked. Draco had been thinking about that since the first time he realised that he could. It had only struck him recently why that was the case. 

“Because I  _ want  _ to touch you,” he answered. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Anyone I’ve ever touched before has been them choosing to touch me or me accidently touching them. I’ve never wanted to be near anyone but you and it seems if I want to, I can touch. If I wanted to touch McLuggs, I probably could.” He was  _ glad  _ he didn’t want to touch McLuggs. “Go to sleep.”

“Why are we like this?” It had been quiet for a little while, Draco nowhere near sleeping but he still got confused. 

“Like what?”

“So messed up.” Draco closed his eyes for a second. 

“Harry...”

“The war is over, but we’re still fighting,” Harry whispered. He turned around again and his face was one of complete wretchedness. Like he thought he would never be whole again and Draco wanted to tell him that they weren’t going to be fighting forever, it would end at some point or another but he didn’t know how to make the thoughts into sound and he didn’t know if it was the truth. Yet, Draco felt weirdly proud. It was the first time Harry had really admitted that he wasn’t  _ right.  _ Sure, he talked about all of the bad things but  _ this _ , Draco thought, was the start of the next step. How many steps there were and how they would get there, he didn’t know. 

“We’re at least fighting together.” And that seemed to be a good thing to say, however strange it was to actually face the fact. Harry nodded, once, and then closed his eyes. Draco kept lightly rubbing his thumb over his arm and it took them both forever to fall asleep but it was a forever they didn’t really mind being stuck in. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Like my stuff? [Buy me a coffee!](https://www.buymeacoffee.com/mee4ever)


End file.
